#ghostvio

To say that Tommy never thought he'd be stuck in a locker room shower stall with Shayne Topp trying to outrun some fuckheads from the baseball team who think they're funny, to say that would be an incredible understatement. Hell, if you'd asked him ten minutes ago, he would have said he'd rather do anything else than get that close to Shayne Topp, who he has never called his nemesis aloud but has in his head a nonzero number of times, which is still embarrassing. It's just his luck that he happened to run in here right after track practice, and just his luck that Shayne Topp happens to be on the track team, and the longest showerer on the track team to boot. Track... cohorts? Are they a team? Running on a track does not seem like a team sport, but Tommy doesn't know enough about sports nor teams to have a genuine place to argue from. Like a lot of the athletes who make use of the campus locker room showers, Shayne Topp has white shorts on in the shower, slaking himself of sweat without exposing himself entirely.

"I'm so sorry," Tommy says, stepping into Shayne Topp's shower stall like he was invited to be there. He stalwartly is not looking at Shayne Topp's abs, nor his defined pecs, nor even the way his shorts cling to his thighs, though all of these call out to Tommy like a siren song. He keeps his head tilted upward, studying the ceiling like his next exam will be nothing but fiberglass and gypsum. The locker room door slams open, the smack of the door handle against the stopper evidence enough that Tommy's pursuers truly don't give a fuck about anything, not simply particularly lackadaisical concerning Tommy's personal comfort and safety.

"Why are you here?" Shayne Topp asks, high but blessedly quiet, and if they're going to be in proximity, it may become relevant at some point to stop addressing Shayne Topp even in his head as perpetually in need of formal address. He's used to looking at Shayne from across the bar they do trivia at, psych department versus theatre geeks (as well as a group from the hockey team, the pathetic math department of a fine arts college, and a group entire comprised of TAs who drink til they're pickled, whom Tommy has never seen win a single point in his two years of attending trivia), and despite also being in theatre (where Tommy learned to hate Shayne Topp in the first place), Shayne plays for the psych department. They had poached him before Courtney had been able to beg Shayne onto their team, and a dark part of Tommy had been glad, even if Shayne is terribly good at going toe to toe with just about anyone. Even when he's wrong, he's so fucking charismatic that Tommy is almost embarrassed to beat him, which is infinitely worse.

Footsteps are echoing in the locker room, the slap of wet feet getting closer as the speed of Tommy's heart climbs higher and higher.

"Come on, Tommy," one of the baseballers calls out, singsonging on the on just as good as any theatre major playing villain; Tommy doesn't know any of their names, and he won't. It's one of the tiny things that he can safely do that digs at their skin. He thought he was leaving this genre of man back in high school, but alas. Looking at the curtain of the stall as if it will show him the secrets of the universe, glancing back at Tommy every few seconds, Shayne considers him visibly before giving a silent shrug of his shoulders.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he says, apropos of nothing as if that isn't the most in need of explanation sentence that has ever been uttered in Tommy's general direction.

"You're wet, not to mention the fact that we barely know each other. Are you insane?" Tommy asks in return, the whisper-shout of his voice a little louder than he intends; Shayne puts a hand over his mouth, gentle, before retracting it.

"Probably, but do you trust me?" Shayne is grinning at him, wide open and crazy, and if Tommy wasn't so scared at the minute, perhaps he'd be charmed. He'll tell himself he's not charmed right this second til the day he dies, however.

"No!" he says, because he's a normal human being. Footsteps grow louder til it sounds like they're a single turn down the corridor of showers, ten seconds away if Tommy's lucky. Fuck.

"Just jump, put your fucking legs around my waist and hold onto me, Tommy," Shayne commands, his voice hard but his head tilted forward, giving Tommy that pretty eyed trust me look like he's a fucking paid actor. Tommy sighs but complies, tilting his weight back against the tile so Shayne can crowd him against it. Shayne follows like it's the most natural thing in the world, making handholds of his hips with broad palms spread like brands across Tommy's skin, his shirt riding up beneath the grip. Hands hit the curtains of other shower stalls, the impact loud and the strain of the curtain rods louder, the rings straining against the sudden movement. Tommy holds onto Shayne a little tighter than he means to, his fingertips digging in when he flinches at the next big impact.

"Sorry," he murmurs, embarrassment as tangible as Shayne against his skin. Shayne, flustering as all hell, bounces him a little, moving him an inch up the wall with the hard grip of his hands. He’s pleasantly warm against Tommy’s front, far too close and yet Tommy wants to lean closer, fold himself into all that body heat and skin. 

"Why are these guys coming after you so hard?" Shayne asks, his voice a barely there whisper against the side of Tommy's throat. By instinct alone, Tommy's head tilts back to accommodate him, granting more access to his skin. It's just reflexive. It's not because he loves the feeling of Shayne trailing his nose down the side of his neck, the way his hair brushes against Tommy's collarbones. Still, Tommy laughs a quiet but dark chuckle.

"Because I dared to tell one of them no, of course," he says, rolling his eyes harshly and tipping his head fully back against the tiles now. The bitterness runs thick in his throat like the burnt aftertaste of the coffee Shayne brought him this morning, an apology for “accidentally” knocking Tommy’s books out of his hands earlier. 

"Fucking what?" Shayne snarls, lifting one of his hands from their vice grip on Tommy's hips to grab his jaw and make Tommy look him in the face. Shayne's mad, the lines of his face sharper than Tommy's ever seen him be at trivia, his jaw clenched hard. He has no idea what would have made Shayne this pissed off, and for Tommy's sake no less. Mind boggling. Oh. He's not sure why Shayne cares, but he's sweet. 

"Not like that, dude. One of them asked me to come to their party tonight is all. I guess his boys are trying to force the issue," Tommy remarks, though something bubbles up in his stomach, soda bubbles effervescent, at the idea of Shayne being so protective of him. His shirt is wet and it feels weird where it's bunching against the tiles, but there's no way he'll be able to move without Shayne feeling it. As if he can sense it, Shayne bounces him up again, lifting him from the wall for long enough for his shirt to fall back down. Tommy opens his mouth, but another speaks before he can start. 

"Sweet of you to turn on the shower for us, Tommy, you were so easy to find," a voice says directly outside of the stall. There's the shadow of a hand against the side of the curtain and it's over, Tommy just knows it's over. He screws his eyes shut and hides his face against Shayne's shoulder, controlling his breathing more out of a natural sense of self preservation than caring about his volume anymore. 

Shayne reaches out to grab the curtain himself, pulling it open just enough to look out, Tommy's face (and, well, the rest of him) still hidden by the bulk of him. "Can I fucking help you?" Shayne asks, his scowling derision much harsher than any playact vitriol he's ever thrown at Tommy. It had never felt playact before, but Shayne isn't smiling. He's not smug. He's mad. Whatever baseball player is unfortunate enough to have that look leveled on him stumbles back into the stall across from theirs, the curtain rod screeching when he presumably grabs onto the curtain in an effort not to trip over his own feet and crack his skull open. 

"Woah, Shayne, that's our bad, dude! You seen a tall, brunette guy in here? His name's Tommy- Tommy Bowe- like, gay Tommy, you know?" unnamed baseballer asks, terribly chipper in the face of a clearly pissed off, mid-shower guy who is built like a brick shithouse. He's not sure whether it's bravery or stupidity, here in his place tucked against Shayne’s chest. Fucking surreal. 

"Get the fuck out, Vinny. I don't give a fuck who you're looking for, if you're not using the locker room like a locker room, get out before Coach catches you, dude. Doesn't the baseball team already have an afterhours trespassing strike this semester?" Shayne asks, his voice in that bro cadence that Tommy has only ever heard Shayne do as part of a bit, and it's taking everything in Tommy not to burst into laughter. It's the kind of sportsguy comradery that smooths Shayne's vitriol and curses into casual, into anything less than a threat against whatever person is immediately in Shayne's line of fire. Tommy hides his grin against Shayne's skin. 

"Oh, dude, you're so right, we didn't even think about that shit. Don't tell Coach, alright?” apparently Vinny says, turning tail and running before Shayne even says anything in reply, sure that the bro code will save his ass, or whatever. His gaze meets Shayne’s face far too close to his own, blue meeting brown, and for a moment, he cannot move. For a moment, Shayne is everything he can see, everything he can feel, everything he can think about. For a moment, his mind, perpetually overrun as it has always been, goes quiet. For a moment, Tommy has this. Only for a moment, though. 

Tommy removes himself from Shayne Topp's person gingerly, carefully putting one foot on the ground and following it with the other, Shayne's hands on him still keeping him steady as he refamiliarizes himself with standing on his own two feet. Shayne reaches out and turns off the water, grabbing a towel and throwing one to Tommy as well, because of course Shayne Topp is the kind of person who brings a backup towel to the locker room. Obnoxious, Tommy thinks, but it's miles fonder than it would have been hours ago. 

"Why did you help me? I thought you hated me." Might as well get it out of the way, right? No sense in thinking that just because Shayne is a half-decent guy that that means he wants anything to do with Tommy. Shayne startles like Tommy hit him in the dick. 

"Why would I hate you? Because- because of trivia? That's just a little healthy competition, not something I'm gonna leave you to the wolves over, dude," Shayne says, scrubbing the towel through his hair and regarding Tommy as if he's just said something particularly out of pocket and not something Tommy has assumed to be their shared understanding for the past two years. 

"Really?" he blurts out, immediately embarrassed by the childish nature of the question. 

"Yeah, Tommy, we may not be friends, but I've got nothing against you. We're cool, cool?" Shayne asks, brows furrowed now. Tommy furrows his back, confused and in need of perhaps three thousand words of explanation with its thesis statement highlighted and paragraph summaries provided, and fuck, a bibliography. 

"I thought you were being-" he trails off, unable to find the words, but it seems their meaning is picked up anyway. 

"You thought I was like those assholes on the baseball team. You thought I was homophobic? Tommy," Shayne implores him, those big blue eyes desperate as they bear into his. He doesn’t really think they’re homophobic, the baseball team, but he understands that gay Tommy probably reads as more offensive to some straight guy who wants to preach ally status. "Why would Courtney hang out with me if I was homophobic, dude?" he asks, and the illusion crumbles. For a second, he thought something different might be happening here. Tommy breathes out through his nose, closing his eyes to hide the disappointment he knows he wouldn't be able to disguise. Courtney. That makes more sense.

"Right. Making nice with Courtney's annoying, gay friend. Do you guys have a date scheduled yet? I can put in a good word for you," he says, and he's proud of himself for keeping the bitterness in his voice to a minimum. He gets it, okay? He's met Courtney. They're beautiful, and incredible, and funny and talented and she lights up the room. Tommy's not a room-lighter. How else was this gonna go? His eyes fly open when a hand rests on his shoulder, Shayne's face twisted in confusion taking up the majority of his field of vision.

"In what fucking world- you're not fucking annoying, Tommy, and I'm not into Courtney, and Courtney knows that. I'm into you." As soon as the words come out of Shayne's mouth, he's backing out of Tommy's space, leaving room that Tommy doesn't want for Tommy to have a response he doesn't think he's having. Shayne swallows visibly, smoothing his hands down over his stomach then his thighs, wiping himself off as if he's not still mostly naked and somewhat damp. His towel is cinched at the front over his shorts, twisted into a comfortable hold on his hips. 

"You what?" Tommy asks, because looking at Shayne won't make this make more sense. He can stare at Shayne all he wants- and it even seems like Shayne may invite him to do so- and none of this will ever make enough sense. 

"It doesn't have to be a big deal, dude, I've been into you since I saw you at your freshman orientation, I won't make it weird now," Shayne insists, and it's strange how an hour ago, Tommy wouldn't have said he knows Shayne Topp very well at all, but he can see the way he's sewing himself back together. Pulling himself back up so that Tommy can't reach beneath the armor and remove him of his heart, grab it between his fingers and bring the red flesh to his mouth. All it once, it hits. He's capable of breaking Shayne Topp's heart. He catches Shayne by the wrist when he tries to step past him, still dripping and still shirtless and still perfect when Tommy pulls him in, standing chest to chest.

"Two years?" he asks, nose to nose with Shayne once again, pressed too close for the other to run. Shayne's hands find their homes on his hips again, his forehead falling against Tommy's collarbone, his breath a hot fan against Tommy's chest.

"Ever since I first saw you, I think. Tried to introduce myself to you, but I guess I cracked a joke or something, and-" Shayne's mid sentence but Tommy cuts him off, unable to let him finish. He remembers this. He might remember it differently, though. 

"I thought you were making fun of me. You weren't?" he asks, head tilted to the side. Shayne pulls back to look at him, shakes his head several times and a bit too quickly, like Tommy's being ridiculous. Is he being ridiculous? 

"Never. I- I'm still on the psych department trivia team because of you. After that first misunderstanding, Courtney was sure we would butt heads on the same team, but she said maybe I could... show you my good side, I guess? By getting you to compete with me. Which is stupid in retrospect. Look, dude, I'll go, I'm sorry about all this. I'll talk to the baseball team about leaving you alone, okay?" Shayne explains hastily, the quickness of his speech speaking of an anxiety that Tommy has never known Shayne to have. He doesn't know Shayne really well at all, does he? He likes what he's seen so far, though, this quick-witted and well-meaning young man that looks at Tommy like he trails stars behind him when he moves, like he can't stand to look away. 

"You could tell them to leave your boyfriend alone?" Tommy offers, hoping that the limb he's going out on is stronger than it looked from the base of the tree. Shayne's head snaps up, his eyes meeting Tommy's with confusion. So, Tommy clarifies. "You're so pretty it pisses me off. And. I'd like to give it a shot, if you still want to. Maybe not boyfriend right away, but... will you go out on a date with me, Shayne Topp?" he asks, slipping into a grin far more comfortable than the anxiety that preceded it. Shayne's bewilderment lasts a moment more before melting into something pleased and warm, his hand finding one of Tommy's and lacing their fingers.

"Give me a chance, Tommy, and I'll take you on the best first date you've ever been on, swear down." Tommy shakes his head once and feigns a wince, pursing his lips. Shayne's eyes drop to his mouth, and it's a long second before he's meeting Tommy's gaze again. Shayne Topp wants to kiss him. Holy fuck. 

"No can do, boss. I beat you to asking, so I guess you'll just have to take me on a banger second date if you wanna impress me that bad," Tommy teases, grin falling to smirk as mischief moves him closer to the older man, til he's looming over Shayne a little. Shayne raises an eyebrow and presses him back, walking Tommy back into the position he had held not ten minutes ago, and yet it feels worlds different. He doesn't even have to ask this time for Tommy to let Shayne pick him up, his thighs closing around Shayne's hips. A nervous little thrill chases its way up Tommy's spine, a giggle falling from his mouth despite himself. Shayne raises his eyebrows, crowding Tommy back against the tiles even a little more, pressing chaste kisses to his clothed shoulder.

"Already planning on going on a second date with me, Tommy? Must be pretty confident this first one is gonna knock my socks clean off. It's gonna be hard, I'm not even wearing socks," he says, eyebrows raised in challenge. Tommy looks down and finds both their feet bare, which he figured was the case, but what can he say? He's a little bit gullible. He still shoves Shayne a little. 

"You're so dumb," Tommy says, quietly delighted at the fact of it. He's always liked a guy with a little silliness in him. He’s always loved someone who could make him laugh. 

"I don't know, I think I'm having some pretty good ideas here," Shayne says wryly, grin cracking open something in Tommy's chest, press and release, the curve of his lips a key to a lock Tommy didn't even know he had, tension running out of him. Shayne's grin goes soft, sweet as if making Tommy relax is enough to alleviate the weight from his shoulders. Tommy swallows the flustered giggle that wants to make its way out, alight with the idea that Shayne wants to treat him well. That Shayne wants him. 

"You're gonna be insufferable, aren't you?" 

"Oh yeah. I've wanted you for years, Tommy, I'm about to be the most obnoxious person to ever live. Though, I'd bet Damien and Spencer would say anything is better than when you were dating that guy last year," Shayne admits, laughing to himself. It genuinely takes Tommy a second to remember the guy Shayne's even talking about; they dated for like, two months, maximum, and not many people even knew about it. Not many people would fucking care about that, right? 

"You were aware of- Damien and Spencer know- what?" Tommy asks, blinking rapidly and trying to figure out how to hide his flushed face when Shayne is all up in his business like this, catching Tommy with his pretty smile and his pretty eyes and the menace of him. Shayne's closest friends know that he has feelings for Tommy. This isn't a repressed jock and his dirty little secret. This is a beautiful boy who wants him, and he's funny, and kind, and protective, and likes Tommy so much he held onto that torch for every single exploit of Tommy's freshman and sophomore years of college. He's smart, and wild, and guileless. He's audacious and tenacious. And Tommy likes him so much it makes him look fucking stupid. 

"Damien knows everything about me whether I want him to or not, but yeah, I did tell Spencer. Courtney also figured it out without me telling her. I'm not exactly a subtle guy, Tommy," Shayne claims, and Tommy sputters. His dick, Shayne was obvious. Fuck off. Fuck all the way off, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, just fuck right off. 

"What do you mean? How was I supposed to know?" he asks, indignant, but Shayne just snorts. 

"In what world does being your trivia rival mean I pay your bar tab, Tommy? Or finding you whenever our friends hang out, or spending an hour arguing with you over proper tie colors to wear to a gala neither of us were fucking invited to? I was scared I was making you uncomfortable, it's all because of Courtney's encouragement that I didn't try to move on sooner and stay out of your life. She's the one who said you weren't catching any of the vibes I was pretty sure I was putting out pretty heavily," he explains, listing separate items that Tommy has never thought about before in tandem, and it does sound obvious when he puts it like that. It's not standard trivia night practice, but Shayne buys his drinks whenever Tommy beats him. And... whenever he beats Tommy. And on the off chance that the hockey meatheads or the math geeks pull it. Maybe he is an idiot. God fucking bless Courtney Miller. 

"I'll have to buy them something nice. She doesn't really seem like a gift basket person, but they've gotta have an amazon list or something..." Tommy says, trailing off when Shayne tilts his chin up, fingers gentle in their grip there. "What vibes were you putting out?" he asks, the real question of his mind even if he'd outrun this if Shayne gave him half the chance. Even when things are better than he ever expected them to be, he's scared. 

"What vibes am I putting out now?" Shayne asks him, inviting him out onto the plank of this, til the ship is just noise behind him, and he sees nothing but the ocean below. Tommy lets his own gaze linger on Shayne's mouth for a moment, before sweeping back up to meet those pretty eyes. 

"You... want to kiss me," he says, forcing himself confident. Shayne smiles proudly, like Tommy is some kid he's tutoring, and we're not entertaining that thought further. The thought of Shayne in those glasses he wears sometimes, giving him little kisses every time he gets something right. Punishing him if he gets off task... Shayne tilts his chin up like he can see Tommy's thoughts wandering. 

"That's true," he says, "Can I?" 

"Just kiss?" Tommy can't help but flirt, can't stop himself when he's this close to exactly what he hasn't wanted to admit he's wanted since that first joke; that's why he was so bothered when he thought he was being made fun of, right? Of course the first beautiful boy you see when you finally leave your hometown doesn't want you, Tommy, be realistic. But he does. He rests his nose against Tommy's, leaning close enough to breathe one another's air. 

"I should take you out before we get ahead of ourselves, Tommy." Shayne's voice is ragged now, worn through. Tommy rubs their noses, giving Shayne a teasing grin. 

"From what I hear, Shayne, you've been buying me drinks for two years. Isn't that a date?" 

"That doesn't count and you know it," Shayne says, grinning as he takes Tommy's mouth with his own. Shayne Topp kisses just how he looks: rough, at first, and then the most gentled thing you've ever seen, abject strength used for caring, force of will dedicated to the honed practice of making others feel good. He tilts Tommy's head in his hand, his kisses growing open mouthed and hot, the humidity of the showers turning up the heat of their proximity. Shayne pulls out of the kiss, but Tommy pulls him back and he allows it, holding Tommy in place with the hand on his jaw and the tongue in his mouth, teeth set against his lip. He gives Tommy several short, punctuated kisses then, pulling Tommy away from him and not letting him back this time, giving him a fond unimpressed look. 

"It could," Tommy proposes, but he removes himself from Shayne's person once more carefully, allowing the other man to keep a hold of his hand. This isn't least of all because he will never trust his ability to stay upright and that's a promise, but also because it so clearly delights Shayne to hold his hand that Tommy can be anxious about his palms sweating, just this once. As if he'll ever be able to say no to this. Shayne kisses the back of his hand. 

"You're more than just a shower fuck to me, Tommy. Now, come grab my jacket. I'm sure you, in all of your wisdom, didn't think to bring a change of clothes before stepping into someone else's shower."